


Last Call's Around The Corner

by andwhatyousaid



Series: Post-Hiatus Direction [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Eye Contact, M/M, Post-Hiatus, Prompt Fill, Temporary Angst, there's your context, they are gathering at a restaurant with other people, when you see the ex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 22:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16147061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andwhatyousaid/pseuds/andwhatyousaid
Summary: Some time after breaking up, Harry runs into Liam at a bar.





	Last Call's Around The Corner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Datzialltho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Datzialltho/gifts).



> Inspired by [this prompt](http://andwhatyousaid.tumblr.com/post/178616367532/fic-title-the-way-we-used-to) from a tumblr fic meme that I did not properly fill, but mostly for [Datzialltho](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Datzialltho) in dedication to that feeling that we could not describe. You know which one. Apologies that it is decidedly un-beta'ed, babe. I'd apologize as well for the fact that it's so short, but I fear anymore would be unbearable.
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my heart to anyone else who decides to read this and escape for a few moments from the absolute terror we currently live in. There are many different versions and encapsulations of this same moment between Liam and Harry that I imagine I'll keep trying to get right (if only to offer myself some escapism), though they are all 1000% made-up, of course. Title is sourced from "Sit Next To Me" by Foster the People, another song for the post-hiatus direction mixtape.

From all the way over at the bar, Harry feels the moment Liam walks into the room, the hairs on the back of his necking rising, a shiver curling at the base of his spine, his face going hot and then sharply, suddenly cold. He doesn’t want to turn to look, but he sees Niall's eyes slide away from him mid-word, over his shoulder.

Niall raises his drink in acknowledgement to where Liam must be by the entrance of the restaurant. “Ah, there he is,” Niall mutters, as if to himself. “Wasn’t sure he’d show. Oh, well,” he glances back to Harry’s face again, almost apologetic.

"It’s fine," says Harry. He downs the rest of his glass and waits to make eye contact with the bartender for another, staring at him rather than at Niall while he says, “Why wouldn’t it be?” Harry hadn't noticed before, but the bartender is sharply dressed, his button-down accentuating his shoulders, his dark hair gleaming under the lights. Harry tilts his head, considering.  

“Mate,” says Niall. He touches Harry’s shoulder.

“Another?” says Harry to the bartender, biting his lip a little, but the bartender only nods in response. Maybe not, then. Harry turns back to Niall and smooths his hair away from his face. “Don’t look so worried. We’re fine.”

If anything, Niall looks more sorry. “You know that he’s brought —”

“I know who he’s brought.” Harry clears his throat. “He’s seeing someone now. Why wouldn’t he?” He fiddles with the damp cocktail napkin beneath his empty glass, and finds a wry smile from somewhere deep within his belly, pulling it up. “I’m fine.” He aims it at Niall.

Niall doesn’t look very convinced, but he never has. “Let’s bring him a beer then, shall we?”

“Hasn’t he quit that?” Harry asks, touching his own forehead and letting go of a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, almost choking on it, remembering with stunning clarity the early morning Liam had been laid out in Harry’s bed, familiar and comfortable in the sheets, saying in his low, groggy, newly-awoken voice that he was perfectly sober the night before, saying he’d been cutting back on drinking and smoking anyway because he had wanted to be able to remember later, and he’d wanted to remember this, and then he’d asked Harry if he had been sober too. Harry clears his throat again, feeling it go dry and uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“You would know better than me,” says Niall, shrugging. “What do you think he’d like?”

Harry wills an answer to appear, staring at the bartop, the deep wood grain, his empty hands resting alone. “I don’t know anymore,” he says honestly.

There’s a noise like a thump over the din, a chair scraping against the floor, and then Liam’s saying, “Nialler,” bright and happy, unmistakable. “There you are.”

Harry draws in a sharp breath.

“We’d just been about to come find you!” says Niall, turning to greet Liam.

When Harry glances over, Niall’s hugging Liam, obscuring him from view, and Harry’s hands jerk reflexively as if he can feel the weight of Liam against his own body. Liam’s solid chest, his warm arms, the meat of him, Harry's hands at his back, pulling him in, closer. Harry's hands ache from being useless and slack, still against the bartop.

They break apart, and Harry gets a proper look: Liam’s smiling, a wrinkle at the corner of his mouth; his hair is longer, slicked away from his face; his white T-shirt is crisp and glowing against his skin like a breath of fresh air.

“Harry,” Liam says and nothing else, Harry’s name sitting bare in the air, naked.

Harry fights the urge to shut his eyes and sink into it like warm water. It’s as though Liam has whispered into his ear, his mouth hot and damp, tickling, quiet and deep, like he has before, Harry wanting to turn his head into it, chasing it. “Liam,” Harry says instead, fiddling with his rings, twisting them around his fingers, so that he doesn’t do anything else. He lets himself, for this moment, look into Liam’s face; he’d forgotten the exact slant to his nose, the way his bottom lip pushes out slightly, plush and wet, the freckle at the base of his neck, at his throat.

Harry opens his mouth to say something, anything else, but the movement seems to bring Liam’s eyes to his mouth, his gaze dropping, and the words get stuck in Harry's chest, tight and locked, Harry’s eyes flicking from Liam’s own mouth to his eyes, down, up again.

“Well,” says Niall. “Where’s the lovely lad, then?”

“Oh,” says Liam, moving as if caught, shifting towards Niall all at once, touching Niall’s forearm in a way that looks too intimate and lingering, his thumb running across Niall’s skin, and Harry fights a shiver, his own forearm feeling hot and tingling beneath his sleeve. “I left him with Louis.” Liam turns to squint across the room, his shoulders stretching beneath his shirt, the fine hairs on the back of neck looking delicate, soft to the touch. “Should probably find him.”

“Should probably do,” says Niall.

“Yeah,” says Liam, but he doesn’t move. He’s looking at Harry again, and Harry, helplessly, is already looking back. “Suppose I should.”

The bartender breaks in with Harry’s drink, finally, saying, “Here you are,” resting it on a clean cocktail napkin, collecting the used one, and Harry looks away from Liam to thank the man, maybe leaning in too far, maybe his smile feeling too wide, too big, the side of Harry’s face burning, hot and stinging, from feeling Liam watching him, watching him still, knowing that Liam is right there, looking, that if Harry were to turn, he’d catch his eyes again like a match striking.

“I’ll be back around,” says Liam. “It’s good to see you both.” But when Harry faces him again, Liam’s only looking at him.

“Always a pleasure, Liam,” says Harry, and he finds another smile from deep within, twisting his mouth, turning it crooked at the corner. 

“Right,” says Liam, shaking his head with a laugh as if resigned and bemused all that once, his eyebrow raised. But all he says is, “Always,” and Harry doesn’t say anything else either.  


End file.
